12 Hours
by JMDOS
Summary: One shot. Cristina has a conference in San Francisco and Owen has to see her.


**A/N: Hi, i know it's been a while since I've updated my other two stories but I've kinda been in a writer's slump and it's been hard to draw inspiration. I've also been really busy. But then this little thing popped into my head and practically wrote itself. I apologise if it's shitty lmao, it's been a while since I've written anything. I hope y'all are still out there. And I hope that you enjoy this. I'll be back soon! Please remember to leave a comment!**

/

He grabs his suitcase off of the carousel and throws it over his shoulder.

He steps outside the airport and immediately hails a cab.

He gets to the hotel, checks in and makes his way up to his room.

He showers, changes, checks his watch and takes one last look at himself in the mirror before making his way out of the room and down to the lobby.

The concierge informs him that his ride had already arrived and he thanks her.

He exits the hotel, placing his hand over his chest as his pulse quickens, and hops into the waiting car.

His leg shakes the entire ride, too nervous to sit still.

He arrives, hands over a couple of bills and steps out.

He makes his way into the building and over to the desk.

"Owen Hunt." He states and he receives a name tag that says the same.

He sticks it onto his suit jacket and takes a deep breath in as he walks in further.

He checks his watch.

Almost time.

He checks the schedule for the room number, finding it in no time.

He hears the muffled version of her voice from outside and the butterflies in his tummy are more alive than they've been in years.

He's more alive than he's been in years.

There's a round of applause and then the doors open and people begin to make their way out.

Of course the place is packed.

When the crowd clears enough for him to make his way inside, he does just that.

His legs push forward even though everything inside of him is demanding that he turn around and get the hell out of there.

His legs won't listen.

He spots her hair first.

And then her smile.

It's aimed at one of the many members waiting in line to talk to her, to ask her a question, to breathe in her success.

He joins them.

The line moves fast and before he's able to process it, they're making eye contact.

He notices the way she freezes.

The way her chest rises as she takes a deep breath in.

Her eyes snap back to the guy in front of her and she gives him a distracted smile as she continues to answer his question.

Ten minutes later, it's his turn.

He steps towards her and she stares him down.

"Hi." He smiles.

"Hi." She doesn't smile back.

Five years. It's been five years since he's been this close to her.

He sticks out his hand. "Owen Hunt."

She studies him and then rolls her eyes in a very familiar way and shakes his hand. "Cristina Yang."

They remain that way for a moment but then she pulls away.

"What was your question?" Her tone is flat.

"My question?"

"Your question."

He thinks for a moment. "Are you busy right now, Dr Yang?"

She watches him and then turns to gather her things, stuffing them in her bag.

He panics.

But then she does what was she does best- she surprises him. "No." She shakes her head. "I'm not busy."

/

They end up in a crowded restaurant and they stand too close as they wait for their table.

But neither of them minds.

She looks up at him and there's a mixture of annoyance and disbelief in her eyes.

"Sorry." He simply says, apologizing for how weak he is, how he couldn't resist seeing her even though he knew how messy he was going to make things.

They're finally seated and she looks at him, waiting.

"Meredith told me." He finally says.

She rolls her eyes. "Dammit, Mer."

"Sorry." He says again.

This time when she looks at him, her eyes are softer and he feels himself fall all over again.

His hand goes out and she takes it, intertwining their fingers.

"You're so annoying. So selfish." She only half means it.

"I know." He nods. "But I couldn't just sit at home knowing you were a few hours away."

"I'm always a few hours away."

"Yeah but two hours are better than twelve."

She smiles at him for the first time and his heart flutters.

Her eyes fall onto the ring on his finger and she retreats, leaving him visibly disappointed.

"How is she?"

"Who?" He stalls.

"Your wife." She says sharply.

"She's… well."

"You don't sound too sure."

Their waiter shows up and Owen's grateful for the few minutes to gather his thoughts.

He watches her as she places her order.

She even does something as simple as that with precision.

It takes a minute for the waiter to gain his attention, tearing him away from his thoughts and away from her eyes.

She gets the salmon and he gets the steak with extra chips because he knows she's going to want some.

The waiter leaves and it's just the two of them again.

"So," she looks at him. "Your wife?"

"We're getting a divorce." He blurts out and she looks taken aback.

And then a little relieved.

"Wow... Owen," she takes his hand again and holds on. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

She's quiet for a moment. "Well, how are you?"

"I'm okay." He nods. "We knew it was coming."

"Doesn't make it easier."

They share a knowing look.

He holds her hand with both of his. "How long are you here for?"

"My flight's at three."

He checks his watch. "That gives us twelve hours." He nods. "I can work with that."

/

By the time their food arrives, the air has shifted between them.

No longer awkward and tense.

Those five years of separation dissipating before them.

She tells him about her research and the amazing surgeries she's performed ever since moving to Zurich and of course he's read about them, kept track of her work, but there's that fire in her eyes, a fire he hadn't seen in so long, the fire he missed seeing morning, noon and night.

"God, I've missed you." He states, stopping her mid-sentence.

He looks at her with so much love in his eyes.

She's not even sure he's aware of what he just said.

But she says it anyway. "I've missed you, too."

/

After lunch, they decide to do some sightseeing and end up at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

Somewhere at the beginning, Cristina's hand finds his and never lets go.

Owen, admittedly, pays more attention to her than the art.

He watches as her eyes light up in wonder and intrigue as she takes in the extraordinary pieces. He watches the way she places her index finger on her chin, her mouth slightly agape as she examines the art. And the way she smiles up at him every now and then, taking his breath away each and every time.

By the time they make it back out through the doors of the building, it's late in the evening and the sun is beginning to set. He offers to buy her supper or an ice cream or coffee or the Golden Gate Bridge and she smiles and turns to him, her eyes playful and her arms around his waist. "Come back to my hotel room with me?"

/

They barely make it into the hotel elevator before he's kissing her, pushing her up against the wall and drawing tiny sounds from her that are driving him crazy.

The elevator dings and the doors open and they reluctantly pull apart.

She grabs his hand and drags him out.

They stop outside her door and she digs into her bag to for her key.

Owen steps behind her and pulls her flush against his front.

Her eyes flutter close.

He breathes in her scent and he nearly cries at the familiarity.

She finds her key and swipes it through the lock.

She's denied.

She tries again.

Denied.

Again.

Denied.

She groans in frustration and is about to throw a fit and kick the door down when she looks up at the room the number and then at the number on the card. "Wrong fucking room." She states and moves one door down. Owen laughs and she laughs with him.

/

They fall over the threshold and Owen's back hits the door, slamming it close.

Cristina is all over him. Her hands in his hair, her mouth on his neck and her body flush against his.

Suddenly, she stops and looks into his eyes.

He immediately understands.

He kisses her softly, slowly walking her backwards until the back of her legs hit the mattress.

She sits.

"We can go slow." He assures her before he backs her onto the sheets.

/

She's lying on his chest, her eyes soft and her hair wild. "What are you thinking?" She asks as she drags her index finger across his lips.

"I'm just… happy." He smiles and she smiles with him.

There's a knock at the door and she hops up. "Oh!" she pulls his shirt over her shoulders. "Room service!"

/

Before they know it, they're at the airport and she has to board the plane in a few minutes if she doesn't want to miss her flight.

He holds both of her hands, a smile on his lips. "Stay."

"I can't." She says, her eyes sad.

He nods, his eyes mirroring hers. "I know."

They embrace and she holds on tightly, memorizing the feel of his body, the scent of his skin.

She pulls back before she's unable to. "Call me?"

"I will."

He releases one of her hands. "Hey, maybe I can visit you sometime? I could take off from work, you could take me sightseeing…"

She smiles and then it fades and she looks guilty.

His smile fades as well. "What?"

She doesn't look at him. "I have to tell you something."

"What is it?" He sounds concern.

"I'm really sorry."

"Cristina."

"Owen… I'm engaged." She pauses. "I'm getting married."

He freezes and then drops her hand.

She suddenly doesn't know what to do with both of them so she wraps her arms around herself and finally looks at him, immediately wishing she hadn't.

She leans up and kisses his cheek, holding his face in her hands and looking into his eyes. "I'm so sorry." She repeats.

He doesn't say anything so she begins to back up, giving him one last teary smile and then turns and walks through the gate.

Owen watches her until her mess of curls disappear.

He turns and sits down.

He looks at his watch.

He doesn't feel like going back to his hotel.

She won't be there.

So he sits there and watches the sun rise and tries to understand how he had lost the love of his life all over again.


End file.
